


Life Is Short (Eat Dessert First)

by nagi_schwarz



Series: The Thellas Chronicles [5]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 20:08:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13325571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: Ronon fumbles his way through being Major Lorne's "emotional support".





	Life Is Short (Eat Dessert First)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the dw challenge picfor1000, inspired by [this](https://unsplash.com/photos/2lIpUvj2_Wo) picture.

Ronon wasn’t entirely sure what being an “emotional support” for Major Lorne entailed. Dr. Heightmeyer had told him to make sure Lorne was “okay” and report if he seemed inclined to kill himself again. 

Apparently Lorne liked running and drawing for fun. Ronon liked both of those things, had done too much of the former and not enough of the latter in recent times. So every morning, Ronon met Lorne outside his quarters, and they went for a run. 

Ronon suspected Lorne was holding back, because Lorne paced him perfectly no matter how hard or how easy Ronon set the pace. Rumor had it that because of the alien in his head, Thellas, he was stronger than most humans. He seemed ordinary enough in hand-to-hand training. Ronon started to experiment on him there, too - and he was stronger, faster than a man his size should be even if he were in peak condition.

After the run, they parted ways, and Ronon didn’t see Lorne till after he was off duty for the day. He didn’t know how Lorne kept it straight. He’d seen Lorne’s schedule: running with Ronon (as Lorne), breakfast with Rodney (as Thellas), therapy with Heightmeyer (for Thellas), work in logistics, lunch (as Lorne), work in the lab with Rodney (as Thellas), therapy with Heightmeyer (for Lorne), and then supper (alternating Thellas and Lorne every night), and then free time (alternating Thellas and Lorne every night).

Ronon didn’t know what Thellas got up to with Rodney. Usually Ronon sat around with Lorne in his quarters and the two of them drew in silence and listened to music. Ronon had been intrigued, the first time Lorne took him to the base MWR archivist and requisitioned a sketchbook and drawing supplies for Ronon. On Sateda, the primary medium for visual art was inks on silk. Earth had so many other options.

Ronon wondered what options Sateda might have developed, if they hadn’t been fending off the Wraith every generation.

Ronon liked to draw Sateda was he remembered it in its glory, before it was destroyed: the Chieftain’s palace, the hospital where Milena had worked, the fortress where Ronon’s unit had been stationed. The forest and little cabin where he’d grown up with his grandfather, hunting and tracking.

He didn’t know what Lorne drew, never asked to see, never offered to show his own work. 

Ronon was pretty sure Lorne wasn’t going to try to kill himself again, but he didn’t think the man was really  _ living _ either. He was just - going through the motions.

So one morning, on their run, Ronon said, “What do you do besides drawing and running?”

Lorne considered, shrugged.

“What did you do before Thellas?”

“I was on an offworld surveying team.”

“Not for work, for fun.”

Lorne considered longer. “Cooking, I guess.”

Ronon said, “Teach me to cook.”

Lorne eyed him. “Surely you know how. You were a Runner for seven years.”

“I ate. I survived. Didn’t make me a good cook.”

“Do you like chocolate?”

“Sure.”

“Meet me in the kitchens after dinner.”

Ronon noticed that no one else on Atlantis really noticed Lorne. Some of the scientists were fond of Thellas, but when Lorne was out and about, he was kind of - invisible.

“He’s a logistics officer,” John explained over supper. “The whole point is that he does his job right and no one notices he’s there. If he’s doing it wrong, then people notice.”

Ronon watched a group of Marines nearly knock Lorne over in their haste to get into the chow line. “He’s damn good at his job.”

The KP Marines noticed Lorne, though. They were wary of him, but he outranked them, and they’d set aside a workspace for him, along with a pile of ingredients and cooking implements. Lorne tugged on an apron and washed his hands. Ronon did the same. The Marines looked alarmed to see him there, but they made room for him.

Lorne had a couple of chocolate bars, a bag of nuts, a container of sea salt, and a couple of oranges. 

“What are we making?”

“Almond chocolate sea-salt bark and chocolate-dipped clementines,” Lorne said, arranging the implements carefully.

“I thought those were oranges.”

“Clementines are a type of orange.”

“Rodney says oranges are poisonous.”

“Only for him. You won’t have to share any with him when we’re done. Now, the most important part is to not let the chocolate burn.” Lorne beckoned Ronon closer. “When you don’t have a double boiler, this is how you improvise.”

Ronon slid closer, and he watched, and he learned.

Where Lorne was exacting on his morning run, in hand-to-hand, in following his schedule, in the kitchen he was - freer. Looser. Didn’t care about measurements.  _ Just taste it, _ he said, over and over again.  _ How does it look? How does it feel? _

Ronon wasn’t sure what tasted right or wrong.

“As long as you like it, it’s right,” Lorne said.

The Marines, who’d been wary at first, were paying closer attention, sniffing the air and casting hopeful looks at the cookie sheets Lorne had lined with parchment paper.

Ronon learned how to melt chocolate in a double boiler, how to feel that moment when he was stirring that the last of it was all good and melted. He also learned how impressively Lorne swore when he accidentally dropped an entire segment of orange into the chocolate and had to fish it out. Ronon learned the simple joy in smashing almonds with a rolling pin to make them smaller.

When it was all done, they had two trays laden with gleaming treats and a whole bunch of dishes to do.

“Now,” Lorne said, “try one.”

Ronon picked up a chocolate-dipped clementine. Now that the chocolate had cooled, it had stopped dripping. He popped it into his mouth, bit down experimentally. It was delicious.

Lorne smiled. Ronon had never seen him really smile before. 

“Thanks,” Ronon said.

Lorne shrugged. “You wanted to learn to cook. Life is short. Eat dessert first.”


End file.
